


Too Young For Heaven

by Ithildin



Series: Echoes the Sea [15]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, Family, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Non Canonical Immortal, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con References, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:03:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithildin/pseuds/Ithildin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the only way to escape the dark, and the demons that haunt you, is to have friends who refuse to let you fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Complete, gen developing into het. This picks up after the final M7 episode, Obsession, and the Highlander episode, Comes a Horseman. This story has the concept of Highlander Immortality, no Highlander characters appear, but are mentioned. It is set after the flashbacks in my story, [I Am Going To the West](http://archiveofourown.org/works/14624). The title is from the song ‘Where Shall I Go? (A Cowboy's Hard Times)’. You can find the lyrics here.

_New Mexico Territory, Summer, 1867_

“If you want me to come, then of course I shall. But I think you overestimate any influence I might have with Chris.”

“Thank you, Charlotte,” Ezra said. After discussing the situation with Vin and Buck, the three men had decided that Charlotte might be able to reach Chris in that dark place he'd fallen into after his grievous encounter with Ella Gaines. And Ezra privately hoped that it might prove to be a much needed distraction for Charlotte, who seemed to be trapped in a darkness of her own. 

She nodded. “Let me change and tell Charles and the children I shall be away for the day.”

Ezra Standish cast a critical eye over his cousin as she threw the last of the feed to the chickens. The morning sun washed over her, giving him a sharp reminder of just how much weight she’d lost in the weeks since Methos had left. 

He cursed the ancient Immortal for the wreckage he’d left in his wake; though a part of him couldn’t help but think it was for the best. Ezra had never thought the man was good enough for Charlotte, but at the same time, it pained him to see how right he’d been. 

Oh, she put up a good front, acting as if all was well, making sure that none of her children felt a moments uncertainty or concern at their mother’s betrothed leaving a few short weeks before their wedding. But Ezra wasn’t fooled, though he had gone along with the pretense for Charlotte’s sake. He made his livelihood reading people, and she was like an open book to his practiced eye. That, added to a lifetime of familiarity with the woman who had been like a mother to him, made her current distress all too apparent. Her smiles were forced, and laughter, on those rare occasions when it passed her lips, was for effect with no real joy behind it. 

Charlotte had told him once that Immortals had to want to live, that state of mind could be as important as one’s skill with a sword. Observing her over these last weeks, Ezra realized just how right she’d been. Except now, it was Charlotte whose emotional state was in question. 

It wasn’t just Methos leaving that had caused this melancholy, of that, he was certain. Not long after the man had left, something had happened; whatever it was she had refused to divulge. He had glimpsed the fear in her eyes before she’d shuttered all emotion away and was concerned enough that he was seriously considering contacting his mother. Despite the sometimes fractious relationship the two women shared, Ezra knew that Maude was the one person Charlotte might confide in. If the situation didn’t improve over the next few days, he would send a telegram requesting her presence.

She seemed to sense his regard, glancing over her shoulder at him as she set down the feed pail. He plastered on a congenial smile, offering her his arm. As she took it, he felt her lean against him, just for a moment, before pulling back. This time, he didn’t hide his concern, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close as they walked back to the large hacienda style ranch house. 

“I am fine,” she said softly, but without much conviction.

“And I’m afraid I no longer believe that, Charlotte,” he replied quietly. “I haven’t spent enough time here with you and the children. I intend to remedy that, I promise you.”

“You are not responsible for me, Ezra,” she told him tiredly. “You have your own life to live, and I have no wish for you to feel some sort of obligation towards me.” 

He stopped dead in his tracks, pulling her around to face him. “You are my family! I refuse to let you push me away. Whether you like it or not, dear cousin, I intend to look out for your best interests,” he told her firmly. 

“You’re a good boy, Ezra,” was all she said in response, and that worried him more than anything else.

\----=========================================----

Charlotte tied her bonnet more securely against the wind that whipped and curled down the main street of Four Corners. It had been a quiet ride into town with Ezra, the young man not pressing her into conversation, for which she was grateful. She knew he was troubled over her current mental state, but there was nothing he could do, nor did she want to burden him with her uncertainties and fear. And to talk about it would only force her to relive the terror of her encounter with Kronos, and she wasn’t ready for that. One day, she'd tell Ezra what had happened, but not till she could think about it without her blood running cold.

Ezra, greeting the two men who were walking towards them, pulled her from her reverie.

“Buck, Vin,” she said politely, studiously ignoring the concerned looks they flashed at Ezra. She knew she looked like hell and didn’t need the reminder. 

“Ma’am,” the two lawmen replied, touching the brims of their hats. 

“Ez, not sure Charlotte being here now is for the best,” Vin said with a quiet solemnity. 

“Things have changed,” Buck added.

“What's happened?” Ezra asked sharply.

“Mail came just after ya left; letter from Ella with a photo of her’n Chris. Signed herself ‘Ella Gaines Larabee’,” Vin explained.

“Not an hour later, Chris parked himself in the saloon. Been there ever since,” Buck finished, his voice a mixture of concern and anger at his best friend’s actions. 

“He shouldn’t be drinking with that serious a gunshot wound!” Charlotte exclaimed, furious at the man for being such a fool. 

“You know that, and we know that, but Chris don’t give a damn,” Buck said in exasperation. 

“Our brother’s soul is riddled with guilt and regret,” Josiah intoned, joining the group on the boardwalk just past the saloon. 

“He’ll be riddled with more that that once I’m done with him,” Charlotte muttered under breath. 

Ezra, hearing her, snorted, his lips twisting into a half smile. “Of that, I have no doubt,” he replied softly. Then he said in a louder voice, "Then what is to be done, gentlemen?"

"Exactly what was intended in the first place," Charlotte said firmly, waving away the objections that swirled around her. "I did not let Ezra drag me all the way out here to simply get back on my horse and ride away, leaving Chris alone with his demons." While she and the gunfighter didn’t always see eye to eye, she considered him a friend. Indeed, all the men that her former ward rode with were like family to her now. She could no more walk away from Chris Larabee, grieving and lost, than she could from Ezra. 

Buck shook his head. “Charlotte, as much as we want to help Chris, none of us are gonna risk sending you in there when he’s in this state. I know full well what he’s like when the drink strips away the man he is, leaving nothin’ but the rage and the hopelessness. It ain’t safe.” 

“Buck, believe me when I tell you that I will be fine. Even if Chris were to somehow hurt me, as an Immortal, any damage would be fleeting.” 

“And you think that matters? You’re a woman, and there ain’t never an excuse for a man to raise a hand to you in anger. It would surely kill Chris if something were to happen when he’s like this.” Buck put his hand on her shoulder, his normally happy visage now sad and tired. “And I could never forgive myself if he hurt you.”

Placing a gentle hand on his wrist, she nodded, understanding exactly what the ladies man was trying to tell her. “Chris is not the first man I have known to fall prey to such darkness, seeking solace in a bottle. You have to trust me, Buck; I can handle Chris. He’s my friend too, and I need you to let me try and help him.” She looked at the gathered men, finally locking eyes with Ezra. “You, all of you, need to let me do this and not interfere.” Ezra clenched his jaw, but he nodded his acquiescence, the other men following suit upon seeing his acceptance.

Buck sighed, squeezing her shoulder before letting his hand drop. “I do trust you, Charlotte. God only knows I hope you can get through to him before it’s too late. I dunno if he can come back from this, I truly don’t.”

“We’ll stand with you,” Josiah told her as the small group began to make their way towards the saloon.

“Don’t much like it,” Vin said. “But I’m mighty grateful.” She patted the sharpshooter’s arm comfortingly, earning her a shy smile. 

Buck managed a chuckle. “You’re a dammed stubborn woman.”

“You have no idea,” Ezra replied, rolling his eyes.

Loud voices and a crash coming from the saloon interrupted her response. The shouts were swiftly followed by a body crashing through the batwing doors. Ezra grabbed her arm, pulling her behind him protectively. 

“Nathan?” Buck queried as they realized the prone figure in front of them was the town’s healer. “What the hell happened?”

\----=========================================----

Charlotte pushed through the group of lawmen, dropping to her knees next to Nathan, pulling out a handkerchief and pressing it against the bleeding wound along his temple. The healer wasn’t unconscious, but he was stunned.

“Chris’s what happened!” JD Dunne snapped angrily, answering Buck’s question as he joined them, having run out of the saloon. “Nathan tried to stop Chris from drinkin’, said he was thinning out his blood and it would bleed through the stitches.”

“I can only imagine our revered leader’s reaction to that,” Ezra said sarcastically.

“He told Nathan to mind his own damn business, and Nathan said it was his business considerin’ he’d spent hours sewing him back up, then Nathan tried to take away Chris’s bottle of Red Eye,” the young sheriff finished breathlessly.

“Damn fool,” Buck muttered. Whether he meant Chris or Nathan, she wasn’t entirely certain.

“Nathan, stay where you are,” Charlotte ordered as he tried to push himself off the ground. “Josiah, could you please help him sit up, gently and slowly, and keep the cloth pressed against the wound.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Josiah put a strong arm behind Nathan’s back, helping him up to a sitting position, while keeping the compress against his temple with his other hand.

“I’m fine,” Nathan protested weakly, trying ineffectually to shake off Josiah’s ministrations.

“Yes, of course you are,” Charlotte said with a sniff, which elicited chuckles from the other men despite the gravity of the situation. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Honest, I’m—“

“Fingers, Mr. Jackson,” Charlotte repeated sternly.

“Better answer her, brother,” Josiah said with a huge smile, “or you’re likely to get your ears boxed.” There was more laughter from his companions. 

Nathan slumped resignedly in Josiah’s hold. “Three, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, look up for me.” She observed at his eyes. “And follow my finger.” This time he complied with her requests with no protest. 

Clicking her tongue, she patted his hand. “I believe you have a slight concussion, and that cut is going to require a few stitches. You need to learn to duck, Nathan,” she told him with a warm smile.

“I’ll try’n remember that, ma’am,” he said ruefully. 

Ezra took her hand, helping her to her feet. Brushing off her skirt, she said, “Josiah, could you please help Nathan back to the clinic? I shall join you shortly and see about those stitches.” 

The preacher didn’t immediately reply, seeming deep in thought. “Is there a problem, Mr. Sanchez?” she enquired with some impatience. 

He shook his head, “No, ma’am, none at all.” He paused, as if considering his next words carefully. “I suppose I’m just wondering what you’ll be doing in the meantime.”

She looked at the faces of the gathered lawmen, seeing the troubled expressions they wore, and on Ezra’s face, the added emotion of his love for her. She knew he battled with the warring aspects of their relationship. On the one hand, that of the little boy she had helped raise, and on the other, the grown man he was now, Immortal, and she his teacher. It could be a difficult path to walk.

With a glint in her eyes, she answered, “Nothing for you gentlemen to worry about; I merely wish to share a quiet drink with Mr. Larabee.”

\----=========================================----

Charlotte allowed her eyes to adjust to the gloom of the saloon, feeling the presence of the four men behind her. She had demanded their word that they wouldn’t interfere, but she didn’t know if that would hold when push came to shove. Their concern for Chris competed with their chivalrous instinct to protect her, despite the fact that they knew she was more than capable of looking out for herself; the habits of a lifetime were hard to break.

As she stood there, the memory of another man and another tavern replaced the present with the past. Giving herself a mental shake, she firmly pushed the ghosts back. This was not Macau, Chris was not Jack, she was no longer that newly immortal twenty-eight year old of a century before, and Methos was gone. Taking a deep breath, she strode across the room to the bar, where Chris sat at one end alone. His skin was pale, and she knew it would feel clammy were she to touch his face. Inez, the barkeep, looked at her, dark eyes filled with worry. Charlotte gave her a reassuring nod before turning her attention to the leader of the Seven. 

Picking up his shot glass, she drained the contents, the fiery liquor burning her throat like acid. But it was a comforting fire, and she had intimate knowledge of its allure. Her action finally caused Chris to notice her presence at his side. He looked at her angrily, his hazel green eyes bloodshot, heavy with rage and grief. 

“You are done, Chris,” she said, her voice pitched low. Pushing aside the bottle of Red Eye, she put a hand over his. “You’ve done enough damage for one day, and now, we’re leaving.”

He growled something unintelligible, taking her wrist in a painful grip. “Didn’t ask you to come round, stickin’ your nose in my business!” 

She easily broke his hold. “No, you didn’t, but your friends did. Though frankly, I’m not sure you deserve it. What sort of man attacks his doctor; the very man who moved heaven and earth to save your life?” 

Glaring at her, fury in his eyes, he replied hoarsely, “A killer, that’s who!” 

“A killer?” She laughed at him. “Yes, I suppose you are—for a child. I have known killers, Mr. Larabee, and you don’t even rate the bottom of the list.” Charlotte shivered, pushing back the all too fresh memories of Kronos. “But who knows? Maybe one day.” 

That got a reaction, Chris rearing up and grabbing her arms, pushing her back against the bar, snarling obscenities. She looked past him, shaking her head at the other lawmen, hoping they would remember their promise. Ezra looked like he was ready to kill Chris, but he stayed where he was. Then she fixed her attention on the enraged man holding her. “You are not a killer, Chris." She twisted, knocking him off balance, freeing herself. 

He was panting now, even paler than he had been when she’d walked in. She knew his nearly fatal wound mixed with alcohol consumption and violent exertion was taking its toll. He slumped against the bar.

She moved in closer, almost whispering, “The world is full of darkness, Chris—don't let that darkness overwhelm who you are. Do not become a man who would be a stranger to Sarah, to Adam."

This time he looked at her, really looked at her, and shock suffused his features as he realized what he’d done. “God…Charlotte…,” his voice cracked, and then failed entirely. He leaned against her, and she could feel him tremble. 

She laid a hand against his side. “Hush now,” she murmured soothingly. “It will be all right, I promise you; not today, but one day.” 

“My fault,” he mumbled. ‘All my fault; Sarah, Adam, because I was blind, stupid. Because of me.” 

“No, Chris, the fault was not yours.” She sighed. “But you will not believe that this day either.” 

“Shoulda died with them, shoulda been me,” his broken whisper floated past her into the gloom that surrounded them. “So tired, Charlotte, so damn tired. Would be better off dead.”

Wrapping her other arm around him, she stroked his back as if he were a child. “You are far too young for heaven, dearest Chris. But Sarah and Adam will wait for you, and one day, you’ll be together again.” She blinked back tears with some effort, willing strength into the devastated man in her arms. “You and I both know they would not want you to still feel their loss so deeply. It is time for you to live your life, as hard as that might be to bear. Believe me when I tell you, Chris, I understand the anguish of letting the dead go.”

Shifting a little, she beckoned the other men closer. “And now, we need to get you to the clinic so I can restitch your wound.” She could feel the warm wetness of his blood as it seeped through his shirt against her hand. “Come along now,” she said gently. “Buck and Vin will help you.” 

As Chris’s weight was removed from her, she sagged against the bar, Inez handing her a rag to wipe off her bloody hand. Ezra reached over, snagging a bottle from under the bar, uncorking it and handing it to her, not bothering with a glass. Gratefully, she took a long swig of the whisky, shaking a little in the aftermath.

She looked up into Ezra’s distressed eyes as he placed a gentle hand against her cheek. “It’s going to be fine.” Whether she meant Chris or herself, she wasn’t sure.

\----=========================================----


	2. Chapter 2

“Nathan, I really must insist that you calm yourself!” Charlotte scolded gently as the healer yet again fussed at Vin to let him up off the bed. 

“Honest, I could do them stitches,” Nathan protested. 

They were in Nathan’s clinic; Charlotte preparing to restitch Chris’s bullet wound. Due to the cramped quarters, Buck, Josiah, and JD had left, leaving Vin and Ezra to assist Charlotte. Chris had blacked out at some point on the journey up to the clinic, which left Nathan the only conscious patient. The healer had been agitated since they’d brought Chris in, and Vin had done his best to calm their unwilling patient; but to no avail. 

“Maybe we should brew one of yer fine healin’ teas there, Nathan. Sure it would make ya feel a whole lot better.” There was a bit of an evil gleam in Vin’s eyes.

Ezra chuckled and even Charlotte’s lips twitched at the rather vengeful tone underlying the sharpshooter’s words.

“Don’t need none! And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with my teas!” Nathan said firmly. “Y’all just don’t know what’s good for you.” He tried to get out of the bed again, only to have Vin push him back down one more time. 

“Really, ma’am, wouldn’t be no trouble t’ take care of stitchin’ Chris up,” he entreated, obviously not willing to trust Chris in anyone’s hands but his.

“Mr. Jackson, I assure you that I have stitched a wound before. Why, I used to stitch Ezra up all the time when he was a child, and really, the scars aren’t all that bad.” She turned to Ezra. “Are they, dear?”

It was all Ezra could do not to laugh out loud; the panicked look on Nathan’s face was priceless. He’d forgotten how good Charlotte’s innocent, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, act was. “No, the scars are not bad at all, cousin,” he replied smoothly. “Why, I hardly notice them anymore.” He shrugged a shoulder negligently. 

“There, you see?” she said airily, Then, an impish smile settled on her lips, and Nathan realized he’d been had when Ezra finally gave in to laughter. 

Vin chuckled, shaking his head. “Had ya goin’ there!”

“Oh, yeah, y’all are real funny!” he grumped. 

“Nathan, if it will reassure you at all, I used to assist Mathew in his surgery for many years, and I worked in a field hospital during the war.” She paused before adding, “The Revolutionary War, that is.”

Nathan looked abashed. “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Nonsense,” she replied briskly. “No offense taken. You had no idea, and your concern does you credit. You’re a fine healer, Nathan.”

Dropping his eyes, looking bashful, he muttered, ‘Thank you, Mz Black.”

“You’re quite welcome, Nathan, but it is only the truth.” Turning her attention back to Chris’s unconscious form, she said, “Shall we begin?”

\----=========================================----

Chris fought back the heavy blanket of unconsciousness that smothered him, that kept him trapped in the dark. Pain was the first thing to register in his awareness, then the scent of lavender and the cool caress of soft bedding against his skin. Shards of memory cascaded around him: a letter, a photo, guilt, rage, despair. Where was he? Somewhere, in memories lost, he knew something had happened, but what, he couldn’t recall. 

“Calm yourself, Chris,” a voice said softly. A southern accented voice. One he recognized. 

“Ezra?” he croaked, not sure if any sound had actually passed his painfully parched throat. He peered towards the sound of the voice, the dim light of the oil lamp on the table next to him making him squint. 

“Yes.” Anticipating his question, Ezra said, “You are at Charlotte’s ranch.” Ezra’s arm supported him as he held a glass to his mouth. Chris greedily sipped the water that lapped at his lips. Then he was laid back down against soft pillows. 

“What?” Yet again he seemed unable to verbalize more than one word. But Ezra once more seemed to divine his meaning.

“What happened?” He chuckled, the sound holding a darkness that was at odds with his conversational tone. “A bottle too many of Red Eye and an impact between your fist and Mr. Jackson’s face.” 

He tried to push himself up, but his body refused to cooperate. God, what had he done?

Ezra continued, “In the process, you managed to tear your stitches, which required Charlotte to piece you back together, Nathan not being physically able to do so, having his own injury to be dealt with.” 

Chris grimaced; despite Ezra’s matter-of-fact tone, he knew the gambler was pissed. “What else?”

“Isn’t that enough?” Ezra tsked reprovingly, 

“Ezra!” Chris rapped out, though the threat lost some of its power when his voice cracked.

“Very well. What else? It was decided that it would be best for everyone concerned were you to recuperate here. You became fevered, and Charlotte and I have nursed you these last two days.”

 _Charlotte_. Her voice drifted across his addled memory… _Not a killer…_

“Charlotte,” Chris whispered. “Ez, did I do anything?” Fear gripped his gut, melding with the pain. “Did I hurt her?”

This time, Ezra’s laughter was decidedly unpleasant. “Mr. Larabee, had you harmed my cousin in any way whatsoever, believe me, you would not be waking up quite so soon.” 

Chris didn’t doubt that. Despite the façade Ezra had perfected of indolent gambler, the man had a hard edge; an edge that had been honed to razor sharpness over the last year. “Nathan okay?”

“Charlotte stitched his head wound and he is now under the watchful eye of Josiah, saint that he is. If there was ever any doubt, Mr. Jackson makes for a terrible patient.” 

“Guess I owe Josiah one,” Chris said with a dejected sigh. 

Again the dark laugh. “Oh, believe me, Chris, your ledger is replete with red ink when it comes to a great many of our little group after these latest events.”

“That include you, Ezra?” He looked at the gambler intently, trying to read his unreadable expression.

Ezra just leaned back in his chair, rubbing his thumb and middle finger together. Then he said, “In truth, I find the current situation quite advantageous.” He flashed a half smile, before settling a piercing look on Chris. “Something happened in this house to Charlotte, and her current despondent state concerns me greatly.”

Chris realized with some surprise that it had been weeks since he’d seen Charlotte. When had it been? Just after her fiancé had taken off – had to be. He’d been such a lousy friend to her, and to Ezra, that he hadn’t noticed how much time had passed, or even that there was anything wrong. 

“What do you need from me?”

“My hope is that during your sojourn here that you will be able to convince Charlotte to confide in you.” He held up a hand to forestall the man’s incipient protest. “I am not asking you to betray her confidence. I do not need to know what happened, only to know she has a friend who does. You do remember how to be a friend, don’t you, Mr. Larabee?” the last said in a voice nearly cold enough to freeze water.

He winced a little at that, not that he didn’t deserve it. He had so many bridges to mend with his friends after what had happened over the last few weeks. Despite all that, they had stood by him; were still standing by him. “Rest easy, Ezra. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right—for all of you. I’ll look out for Charlotte while I’m here, and after that, if need be. You have my word.” He held out his hand.

Ezra took the proffered hand, shaking it. “Then you and I have an accord.”

\----=========================================----

“It seems to be healing nicely,” Charlotte said as she finished placing the clean dressing on Chris’s wound. “And perhaps if you can manage to avoid any bar fights in the near future, it might even heal completely this time.” Her voice was equal measures of gentle reproof and amusement. 

It was the second day after Chris had regained consciousness at Charlotte’s ranch, and he was feeling much more clearheaded than he had yesterday. The windows of his room had been opened wide; still early enough in the morning that the warm July breeze flooding the room was pleasant. He felt more alive than he could recall feeling for a very long time. 

“I’ll do my best, ma’am,” he replied with a crooked grin. 

“Mmm-hmm,” was her only response as she pulled the coverlet back up over his bare chest. Straightening, she looked him over, seeming to come to some sort of decision. “If you’re feeling up to it, perhaps you’d like to sit in the garden later? The fresh air and sunlight would do you good.”

“Sounds like a mighty fine idea,” he agreed. More than fine, actually. He hated being cooped up in a sickroom; though this one was a quite a step up from Nathan’s clinic. He looked around the guestroom at the Oriental furnishings and art that decorated it. He'd never seen anything like it before, yet somehow, the room seemed to reflect its owner more than any of the other rooms he’d seen on previous visits. It reminded him sharply that Charlotte was Immortal; exotic, unique, and totally outside his experience, just like this room. 

Then she smiled at him, and he realized that while she might be all those things, she was also a woman, a very human woman who had burdens of her own. “I’m sorry, Charlotte, for what happened at the saloon. I don’t recall much, but I know I wasn’t a gentleman.” He wasn’t sure he’d ever know what exactly it was he’d done and said that day, but it didn’t mean he felt any less remorse for his actions. 

She shook her head. “No apologies are necessary, Chris. We all have demons to which we are prey,” she said gently.

As she turned to leave, he asked quietly, “What are your demons, Charlotte?” 

She stiffened almost imperceptibly before facing him once more. “You may tell Ezra that I am perfectly well, and that there is nothing for him to worry about,” she declared with no small measure of heat. 

He decided it was pointless to deny that Ezra was the reason behind his question, so he charged straight in. “You sure about that?”

“Quite.” Crossing her arms across her chest, she pulled herself up to her full height, narrowing her eyes. 

She reminded Chris of a schoolmarm he’d had back in Missouri when he was a boy. Though she hadn’t been half as pretty as Charlotte, he thought absently. 

“Ezra is a fine young man, but he is prone to being overprotective and tends to forget who is the child and who is the parent.” 

“He ain’t no child, Charlotte,” he rebuked gently. Her eyes flashed and he thought he might have pushed too hard. Then her shoulders slumped.

“No, he is not.” Sighing, she dropped into the chair next to his bed. “But to me, there will always be a part of him that is the little boy I helped raise; I can not help that. Nor can I burden him with my troubles.” She looked down at her hands in her lap. “He has enough to deal with in his own life, which is as it should be.”

“Don’t rightly think he sees it that way,” Chris pointed out. “Hell, Charlotte, you’re the one who raised him to give a damn about others. Can’t blame him for doing what’s needful to look out for you.” 

“Like setting you to spy on me?” she asked with a wry smile.

“Man’s just using his ‘God given gifts’,” he pointed out with a chuckle. Then he became serious. “Ezra was going to contact Maude, get her to come here, figuring she might be the one person that you’d let in.”

Looking up at him sharply, she shook her head. “I didn’t realize Ezra was that concerned,” she admitted. “He’s a good boy.” Her words were said so softly that Chris could barely make them out and there was a faraway look in her eyes.

“He was right, wasn’t he? About Maude?” He wasn’t able to keep out the note of disapproval in his voice. 

She tilted her head, searching his face. “And you don’t understand that, do you?” she asked, not denying his assertion. 

He leaned back against the pillows tiredly, shaking his head. “No, don’t s’pose I do. After everything, I don’t understand why you still have a place for that woman in your life.” 

Charlotte’s eyes looked very old, as if she were remembering some distant pain. When she began to speak, it was in a tightly controlled voice, “I came upon Maude in an alley in New Orleans in 1815. She had been brutalized, stabbed repeatedly. Her assailant was making ready to cut her throat when I killed him.” Her expression dared Chris to judge her for that, but he just nodded for her to go on.

Charlotte’s eyes locked with his as she continued, “She died in my arms, there in that alley; the warmth of her blood saturating my dress, turning cold as it seeped through to coat my flesh. For so long afterwards, the terror of those moments, the means of her death, haunted her. We traveled a long hard road together, bringing her back from that place where she was violated and murdered. It is impossible to share that pain, that horror, with another woman and not have a bond!” she said fiercely. “We were together for almost twenty years, Chris, closer than any sisters. Maude is not an evil woman; only a woman who has demons of her own.”

A heavy silence fell, and Chris shivered a little despite the warmth of the summer morning. All too clearly he could visualize Charlotte holding a bleeding, dying Maude, in that New Orleans alley. He’d never given much thought to how the Immortals he knew had met their first deaths, and Charlotte’s story now made him wonder just how she had died. What he wasn’t sure about was if he had the guts to ask her—or to deal with the answer.

The moment was broken by the sound of running feet, swiftly followed by the appearance of a little girl. “Mama, mama!” Penny, Charlotte’s eleven-year-old daughter, said excitedly, coming to stand next to where her mother sat.

Charlotte put a hand on top of her curly red hair. “Now, Penny, do we burst into other people’s rooms without knocking first?” Her voice was gentle but firm.

“Sorry, mama.” The girl looked guiltily over at Chris. “Sorry, Mr. Larabee.”

Chris chuckled. “That’s okay, Penny. I’m not always real good at remembering my manners either.”

She gave him a brilliant smile and Chris wondered what it might have been like to have had a daughter. The idea had always kinda scared him, but looking at Penny, he realized it might have been nice to have had a daughter to smile at him like that; a little girl that Adam could have been a big brother to. She would have looked just like Sarah, with long brown curls. Close on the heels of those thoughts came the realization that thinking such things didn’t make him feel like he was going to break inside, and he marveled at that. 

He realized Charlotte was looking at him with some concern. He smiled at her, a smile she returned before turning her attention back to Penny. “Now what has you running through the house like a hellion?” she asked with a grin.

“Cousin Ezra has taught me to play _Für Elise_! Please, can you come listen?” 

“Of course I can, dearest,” she replied, kissing Penney’s forehead. “Mr. Larabee needs to rest now, so we shall leave him in peace.”

“Wouldn’t mind hearing Penny play,” Chris told her. 

Raising one expressive brow, she gave him a look. “I am not sure that would be wise, Chris.” 

“I promise I’ll take it easy.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Cross my heart.”

Penny clapped her hands together and squealed at the thought of having an audience and Charlotte giggled. Chris thought it was one of the nicest sounds he’d heard in a long time.

\----=========================================----


	3. Chapter 3

Chris sat under the apple tree in the back garden, wrapped in a blanket, his feet propped up on a box with a cushion. The late afternoon sun had warmed him and he’d drifted to sleep not long after Ezra and Timothy, Charlotte’s oldest boy, had settled him there. This despite the nap Charlotte had insisted he take after he’d sat in the parlour, listening to Penny play the piano for an hour. Now he half dozed, watching Charlotte, who’d come out to join him a short time ago. Her lap was covered in lace, her head bent in deep concentration as she placed fine stitches across the fabric that would be Jemma’s bridal veil. Her oldest child’s wedding was in less than two weeks, and every time Charlotte was sitting, she was working on some sort of wedding finery. 

He was content to enjoy the companionable quiet, watching her delicate fingers work the needle, remembering those same fingers had placed the precise stitches currently in his abdomen. He supposed she’d had a lot of practice in the nearly a century and a half she’d been alive. Once more, he cast his thoughts back to their conversation of that morning and his curiosity about her first death; he seemed unable to turn his mind away from the subject. 

Seeming to sense his regard, Charlotte looked up from her sewing, the sun making her pale blue eyes sparkle. A small smile pulled at her lips as she said, “You may ask, Chris.” She put her needle aside, folding her hands on her lap. “After all, the question has been burning a hole in your brain these many hours.”

God damn it! Seemed mind reading ran in the family. He looked at her ruefully. “Hate it when you and Ez do that.”

Chuckling, she waved a hand at him. “Well?”

“Don’t want to bring up bad memories,” Chris demurred. She didn’t respond, merely waited patiently for him to decide. Sighing, he finally asked, “How did it happen for you; when you died?”

“I was shot,” she said simply. 

“That it?” he asked, trying to dampen his curiosity, but not succeeding very well. Lord, the more time he spent with her, the more he realized that a great many of the things that drove him crazy about Ezra came from her. 

She pondered for a moment. “It was sufficient to the task.” There was a look on her face that practically dared him to rise to the bait. _Yeah_ , just _like Ezra_.

“I’m thinking I owe Ez an apology,” he told her, half amused, half aggravated.

She laughed delightedly. “Why, Mr. Larabee, whatever can you mean?” 

He shook his head, grinning, and recalled a time last year when the very infuriating ‘Widow Black’ had him entertaining thoughts not so innocent in nature. That was before Matthew Adamson, her old friend and mentor had reentered her life, and Ella had reentered his. But that was then, and now…. Well, things were different now. He’d do well to remember that.

Finally, she relented. “It was 1767, Macau, I was twenty-eight.”

“A century ago,” Chris said half to himself.

She looked surprised, “Why, I suppose it was at that.” Her eyes took on that faraway look he was beginning to recognize. “And it was about this time of year, now that I think about it.” She gave herself a shake, continuing, “We – Jack, Matthew, and I – had been in China for several months. It had been an uneventful voyage, and our business nearly concluded when we were ambushed by a pirate captain who held a grudge against my husband. Though we were outnumbered by him and his band of brigands, we had been victorious, with only the mopping up left. That was when I spied a flash from the corner of my eye. I do not even remember consciously thinking about it, only throwing myself between the pistol and Jack’s back.”

She wasn’t looking at him, staring off at some point past his shoulder, and she was very still. Then she shrugged her shoulders. “Dying wasn’t as I had expected it to be. The pain was less than other injuries I had suffered, and I felt so calm. I remember the look in Jack’s eyes as he held me, my life’s blood draining away into the sand beneath us. It was if he were dying instead of me. There were so many things I wanted to tell him…,” her voice drifted away and she brushed at her eyes with a hand. 

“And after?” he asked softly, not wanting to startle her from that place she was remembering.

“After? Well, Jack didn’t take it well; not that he wasn’t grateful that my death was not permanent, but that I had died in his place, you see.” She looked as if she weren’t sure Chris would understand. But he did, more than she realized.

“That’s understandable,” he told her. “No man wants the woman he loves to die for him.” His throat tightened, remembering Sarah, and how she had been murdered because of him.

Charlotte looked stricken, realizing where these revelations of hers had led his memories. “Chris, I’m sorry. This is not something we should be speaking of now.” 

“No, Charlotte, I asked. You shared your deepest secret with me n’ the others, but I don’t really know you—and I want to.” It was the truth. Charlotte had revealed the secret of her Immortality out of love for Ezra, but he knew she’d never truly been at peace with that decision. She was as much an enigma to him today as she had been the night she’d plunged Josiah’s dagger into her chest last year as a demonstration of her and Ezra’s Immortal nature. 

She took a shaky breath, finally nodding. “Jack was furious; at Matthew, for never telling him what my future held, but most of all at me. He spent three days blinding drunk in a dockside tavern before I went to fetch him back.”

“And how did he take that?”

This time there was a genuine smile on her lips. “About as well as you did a few days ago.”

“That good, huh?” he asked wryly.

“Just so,” she agreed. “He knew about Immortals, had known what Matthew was, as we both did. He just hadn’t expected his wife to be one—the vagaries of fate.”

“And after? Did he come around?”

“Oh, yes. Not that he wasn’t more than a little relieved the first time he saw me in moonlight,” she said lightly.

Chris was bursting with questions, especially about the moonlight comment, but anything he might have asked was preempted by the familiar voice of Buck Wilmington ringing across the garden.

\----=========================================----

“Hey, stud! Yer looking mighty fine for a man who was gut shot and sewn up twice!” Buck Wilmington called out as his long stride brought him to where Chris and Charlotte were sitting, Vin Tanner following behind him. “Ma’am.” He tipped his hat to Charlotte. “Though if it meant being nursed by a lady as lovely as you, I might consider gettin’ shot myself.” He flashed his most charming smile.

Charlotte laughed at Buck’s outrageous statement. The big man never failed to bring a smile to her lips. It was just impossible to not to be cheered by his good humour and expansive personality. 

“Ma’am,” Vin greeted her with a matching tip of his hat. “Bucklin’s right, pard; yer looking a whole lot better than the last time we saw ya.” 

“Charlotte and Ezra’ve been taking good care of me,” Chris told the two men as they sat down on a bench across from him. 

“Chris has been an exemplarily patient,” Ezra told them, coming up to join the group, little Constance holding his fingers as she toddled alongside him. 

“S’pose miracles do happen,” Vin teased, earning him a glare from Chris.

Letting go of Ezra’s hand, the golden haired three-year-old, ignoring the other adults, raised her arms to Buck. “Uncle Buck!”

“Why there’s my favourite lil’ gal!” Buck obligingly picked her up, encompassing her in a huge bear hug. 

While Buck loved all Charlotte’s brood, he had a soft spot for the youngest, and she for him. It had only been a matter of minutes during that first Sunday luncheon last year for Constance to latch on to the jovial ladies man. When he visited, they were practically inseparable. 

She giggled as he settled her on his lap, giving her a big kiss on the cheek. “It tickles!” Reaching up, she petted Buck’s mustache. 

“Prob’ly thinks you have kitten hidden in that thing,” Chris needled his old friend. 

“You’re just jealous,” Buck shot back. “All the ladies love ol’ Buck’s mustache!”

“Is pretty!” Constance agreed, beaming at her ‘Uncle Buck’.

“There? Ya see?” Buck tweaked Constance’s nose, making her giggle again.

Chris just snorted and Vin and Ezra grinned.

“And a very fine specimen it is,” Charlotte agreed with a smile, earning an emphatic nod from Buck.

“Now, Mz Black, don’t be encouragin’ him,” Vin told her, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “His hat’ll be a mite too tight fore long iffen you keep it up.” 

Charlotte just shook her head and laughed. “You gentlemen will be my guests at supper, won’t you? And stay the night of course. Then Ezra can ride back to town with you in the morning.” Chris had improved enough that Charlotte could make do with help from her sons, allowing Ezra to return to his duties in Four Corners. 

“Would like that just fine, ma’am,” Vin said.

“Sure would,” Buck agreed.

“Good! Then I shall leave you all to catch up while I go see to supper. Would fried chicken suit you?”

Ezra’s eyes lit up at that; it was his favourite. “It would indeed, cousin,” he affirmed quickly. “And was that peach cobbler I smelled on my way through the kitchen?” 

She stood, carefully folding the lace she’d been working on, placing it in a cloth bag, before looping the handle over her arm. “It would indeed. I thought you might like a meal with some of your favourite things,” she told him fondly. “There may even be some hush puppies, if you play your cards right.” 

“Why, Charlotte, you do spoil me,” he told her with a flash of dimples. 

She squeezed his shoulder. “My prerogative, Ezra.”

All the men but Chris stood politely as she made to leave. “Come along, sweetling, you can help me make supper for your Uncle Buck,” she told Constance. 

The child shook her head. “Wanna stay wif Buck.”

“Now there,” Buck said soothingly. “Tell you what, you go with your mama now, and before breakfast tomorrow, we’ll take my horse and ride down to the river. We can pick wildflowers for your mama. Would you like that?”

She looked at him, solemnly nodding. “Can Uncle Bin come too?” she asked, fixing her attention on the tracker sitting next to them. Vin seemed surprised at suddenly being the focus of the conversation. 

“Of course he can, baby! Uncle Vin would love to come along,” Buck assured her.

Constance reached out, petting Vin’s long wavy hair as she had Buck’s mustache earlier. “Uncle Bin’s hair’s pretty,” she declared.

Vin blushed, ducking his head. “Thank you, lil’ lady,” he mumbled as the other adults chuckled at his discomfiture. 

This time when Charlotte reached for Constance, she went to her mother’s arms with no objections. “I’ll send out refreshments in a bit,” she told her guests, “and I’ll call you for supper when it’s ready.” With a nod, she left the men to their visit.

“And how is Nathan faring?” Ezra asked after they’d reseated themselves.

“He’s doing fine,” Buck said. “But lemme tell you, we need to make sure he don’t ever get seriously hurt! If he were laid up for any real amount of time, one of us would have to shoot him. God damn worst patient I ever did see!”

Vin nodded in agreement. “Man’s a holy terror.”

“That’s hardly surprising,” Ezra opined with a small chuckle. “Doctors do make the worst patients, or so I am reliably informed.”

“How you feeling, Chris?” Buck asked.

“Better’n I deserve.” Chris locked eyes with Vin and Buck. “Apologized to Ezra and to Charlotte, and now I’m apologizing to you,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry for everything that happened; at Ella’s and back in town that day at the saloon. Treated you like crap. My friends deserve better, and I hope you can forgive me.” 

“Reckon we can do that, stud,” Buck told him, his eyes heavy with emotion. He’d been down this road with his oldest friend before and had been afraid he might not be able to pull himself from the darkness this time. 

“Reckon we can,” Vin agreed, his voice soft. 

Chris picked up his pocket knife and the piece of wood he’d been carving before he’d fallen asleep earlier, running his thumbs over them like talismans. He took a deep breath, working hard to get out all he had to say. He was man of few words and had never been good at expressing his feelings. “Thank you, all of you.” He swept his eyes over all three men. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Chris felt a calming sense of relief, swiftly followed by gratitude for his friends. Looking down at the wood in his hand, he began to carve.

\----=========================================----

The next morning, Chris walked slowly across the courtyard to where the horses were tethered. He was taking it easy; in no small part due to a healthy respect for his hostess's ire should he ignore her instructions and find himself once more in need of doctoring. The object of his thoughts stood next to Ezra as he finished saddling Chaucer. She said something that made Ezra smile, and she reached up, kissing him on the cheek. Then she handed him a paper wrapped package that Chris was pretty sure contained leftover fried chicken and biscuits from last night's supper. The gambler's smile broadened as he took it from her, stowing it in his saddlebag.

Chris drew even with the two. "Wouldn't let Vin see that packet," he said, smiling. 

"I intend to keep it close to my side," Ezra assured him. 

"Have no fear, Vin has a package of his own, though it contains cookies, not chicken," Charlotte told them with a laugh. "How are you feeling this morning, Chris?" she asked, fixing her attention squarely on him. 

"I'm fine, Charlotte, honest." Her expression clearly said, 'we'll see'. "Promise I won't overdo." 

"I'll hold you to that," she said sternly, and then she smiled, really smiled like he was pretty sure she hadn't done for a while. "I'll need to change your dressing when you come back to the house." 

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he found that he kinda liked being fussed over; especially if it was a beautiful woman doin' the fussing. "Wouldn't miss it."

She just shook her head. "I'll see you in a few days, Ezra. Thank you for all your help."

"My pleasure, cousin." She patted him on the arm and headed back to the house.

The two men watched her walk away, and Chris said, "You ought to know, Ez, she's on to you setting me to spy on her."

Ezra froze, a slightly panicked look in his eyes. "You're certain?"

"She came right out with it. Saw no reason to deny it." Chris shrugged.

"Saw no reason—" Ezra sputtered, shaking his head in disgust. "Unbelievable."

"Gonna be fine, Ezra, trust me." Chris slapped him on the shoulder. "After all, how mad can she be when she made you your favourite dinner last night?"

Relaxing, Ezra smiled. "Quite true, Chris."

Chuckling, a glint in his eye, Chris added, "Course, you may want to check that leftover chicken for poison."

\----=========================================----


	4. Chapter 4

The clock in the hall struck four as Chris made his way quietly through the sleeping house. He could hear the wind wailing outside, and the scratch of tree branches against the plastered walls of the hacienda. It was the third night since Ezra had left, and while Chris was feeling much stronger, he still tired easily. Charlotte had allowed him a beer with dinner, and afterwards, he'd settled into the rocking chair in the parlour. He must have fallen asleep not long after. He'd woken up a few minutes before, finding himself covered with a blanket. Not feeling like going back to sleep straightaway, he'd decided to find a book to read from the library in Charlotte's study. 

The study door was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open just enough to get through. Moonlight flooded the room, making it bright enough to see the furniture and bookshelves, but he'd need a candle to make out the books on those shelves. Here, the sound of the wind was even louder, and he paused a moment, just past the door, to look out the large window behind Charlotte's desk, seeing lightening flash in the distance. Soon enough, the storm would be upon them. He was glad enough to be indoors tonight, that was for certain. 

The room was an L shape, with Charlotte's desk at the top, and a fireplace and sitting area at the other end. The fireplace was where he'd find the candles he needed. He rounded the slight corner, only to come to an abrupt halt. It seemed he wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep in these dark hours before the dawn; Charlotte sat on the floor in front of a dying fire, dressed in her nightclothes, huddled over something in her arms. The wind lulled for a moment, and he realized she was crying. He debated leaving, feeling like a voyeur. It was obvious she wasn't aware of his presence. To hell with it, this was what he'd promised Ezra. And more than that, this was what a friend did. 

There was no way for him to alert her to his presence behind her that wouldn't startle her, but he had enough sense to know not to touch her, or he'd probably find himself in need of doctoring again. He settled for calling to her softly. "Charlotte, it's Chris." Her body twisted around in surprise and fear, but the look in her eyes was sheer terror, and Chris knew Ezra was right: something terrible had happened to her in this house. "I didn't mean to scare you. Couldn't sleep and came looking for a book." He stepped closer, making small talk, giving her time to compose herself. "Recall you saying there was a book you and your husband wrote 'bout being pirates. Thought it would be a good read."

Her knuckles white around what Chris realized was a dress, she nodded. "I can get it for you," she said, not able to keep her voice from shaking. 

Sinking down next to her on the floor, Chris covered her hands with his; they were icy cold. "You're freezing." He snagged a blanket from the chair next to him, wrapping it across her shoulders, taking a corner of it and wiping the tears from her face. This close, he could see that the pale blue dress in her hands was stained with blood. Her blood, he'd bet. He touched the cloth, looking at her, the question in his eyes.

Glancing down at it, she said, "I was going to burn it; a waste, really. There's enough good cloth here to make a dress for Constance. But I couldn't—" She shook her head. "I don't want to look at it, ever again. It would just remind me—" Falling silent, she didn’t complete her explanation of just what it would remind her of. Drawing back, as if suddenly realizing how close they were, she said, "Let me get that book."

Grasping her hands, he shook his head. "Forget the book, Charlotte. Tell me what happened here." When she resisted, he added, "We all have demons, Charlotte, you told me that. Let me be here for you now." He felt her wilt into his hold, and he pressed his advantage, laying his arm comfortingly across her back. "Please."

"I haven't told anyone."

"Then it's time, isn't it?"

She shuddered, nodding. "Three weeks ago, I came home, after leaving the children in Four Corners with Ezra for Independence Day."

"I remember." 

"He was here, waiting for me," she said so softly, Chris almost couldn't hear her.

"Who was here?" he prompted gently, when it seemed she wasn't going to say anything more.

"Melvin Koren."

"Koren? The outlaw? But he was killed in Texas by the Rangers more than six weeks back."

"He was," she agreed. This time she looked up at him with dead eyes. "He didn't stay that way." 

Chris finally understood, Koren was an Immortal, just like Charlotte, and his blood ran cold. He'd read the reports from Texas. "And by chance, he shows up at your ranch?"

"He needed to rest his horse; the place was deserted, private."

"And then you came home."

"And then I came home," she agreed. "But you see, Chris, fate wasn't done with me." She pulled the blanket tighter around herself. "Kronos, that's his real name, is an ancient, and has walked the Earth for thousands of years."

"You knew him?" Chris was perplexed.

"No, but I knew of him, knew what he was, what he had been, the reason Methos…Matthew," she corrected herself, "left."

He realized Methos must be Matthew Adamson's true name, and he also realized something else. He'd recognized the killer in Adamson the first time they'd met, and it was more than just the violent life that Immortals lived. "Methos didn't leave because he and Kronos were enemies." It wasn't a question.

She seemed surprised at his insight. "No, he left because they were brothers. He was afraid if Kronos found him, he'd become that man again, Death."

"Death?"

"Quite literally; Death, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. They haven’t seen one another for over two-thousand years, and still, Methos can't stop running." 

Chris rubbed his forehead, trying to wrap his mind around what Charlotte was telling him. "How old is Methos?"

"Five-thousand, give or take."

"How is that even possible?" 

Shrugging, she replied, "He's a survivor." She was looking down at the bloody dress in her lap. "But I am too," she whispered.

It hadn't escaped Chris's notice that she still hadn't told him what had happened after she came home, finding Kronos at her hacienda. "Where's Kronos now?"

"Gone, probably halfway to China by now, hunting Methos." 

"So if he's not dead—" Chris didn't know how to ask.

"Why aren't I?" This time when she shivered, she couldn't seem to stop, and Chris instinctively drew her into his arms, holding her close. Instead of resisting, she pressed herself close, as if seeking his warmth. 

He just held her, not pushing for anything more than she was ready to tell him. Despite the circumstances, he couldn't help but notice how she felt in his arms, her scent, cinnamon and citrus filling his senses, how soft her long black hair was under his fingers. This felt good, she felt good, more than it had a right to. This wasn't the time or place, he admonished himself. _And if it were?_ His wayward thoughts were derailed by her voice as she began to speak, pressed against his chest. 

"It wasn't for lack of trying," she said. "All I wanted was for death to release me before Ezra returned with the children. I needed for Kronos to be gone, to protect Ezra."

"That's what a mother does for a child," he whispered half to himself. If Charlotte heard him, she didn't protest as she normally would; that Maude was his mother, not her. 

"He gunned me down in the kitchen, tied me to a chair, and drove a knife into my hand to get me to tell him what he wanted to know. I was so scared, Chris. I knew what he would do to me, and I wanted nothing more than to die." He could hear the self-accusation in her voice.

Pulling back slightly, he took her chin in his hand, making her look at him. "Don't, Charlotte! Don't think less of yourself because you were afraid. You don't think I haven't been scared to death? Well, I have. You'd be a fool not to be terrified; I just wish I'd been here for you. I should have realized something was wrong. But I was too wrapped up in my own life to pay any mind to my friends." 

"But you are here now," she said gently. 

"I'm here now," he agreed. "And for as long as you need me to be."

She nodded. "I'm glad." Her hand slipped up to lie against his jaw, her eyes drawing him down. When their lips met, the darkness melted away, leaving behind warmth and belonging. 

It was Chris who broke the kiss, smiling down at her, stroking her hair. "You aren't alone anymore, Charlotte," he said huskily. 

"Neither of us are." Then she stood, walking over to the hearth, putting more wood on the fire. Her back to him, she said, "Kronos found the photograph of Methos and me that was taken at the Christmas dance. He just hadn't expected me to be Immortal as well. He thought Methos was still here, and wasn't pleased when I told him Methos had run after seeing his Wanted poster."

Chris joined her by the fire, standing close, but not touching her. "Then what happened?"

"What usually transpires when two Immortals meet, we dueled. I had little chance of victory, of course, but I fought with everything I had. In the end, I lay on the ground, my blood cooling the hot earth beneath me, near death, the sound of cicadas blending with the sound of the ocean as it called me home." Her eyes took on a dreamy quality as she remembered. "I was at peace, Chris. I knew Jack would be there to welcome me home, I could feel the presence of his spirit, calming me, taking away my fear." Tears fell unnoticed down her cheeks. "And then Kronos laughed, and he told me he wasn't going to take my head after all. The terror I felt in that moment, Chris—" She wrapped her arms around herself tightly. "He said that when he found Methos, he wanted Methos to owe him. Owe him for not killing me…owe him for not touching me. I didn't believe him; I spent three days in dread, waiting for the inevitable. But he was true to his word, and once his horse was rested, he rode away." 

A crack of thunder made Charlotte jump. "Storm's here," Chris said. 

"Yes." 

"Be done with it, Charlotte," he said gently, picking the bloodied dress up off the floor and handing it to her.

For a moment, he wasn't sure she would, but she nodded, rolling the fabric into a ball and tossing it into the flames.

\----=========================================----

Chris sat on his horse, looking down at Charlotte. Four days had passed since that night in the study, and now he was well enough to go home. Neither of them had acknowledged the kiss they had shared, but it was there between them. Chris was content to wait; wanting the next kiss to be untainted by the sorrows of their past. A fresh start for them both. 

His fingers brushed hers as he took the paper wrapped package of food she handed up to him, and the smile she gave him left him with no doubt her thoughts were similar to his. "Remember not to do too much too soon, Chris."

"Maybe you should come check in on me—" he leaned down, brushing a strand of hair from across her eyes "—you know, just to make sure I'm following orders." The suggestive nature of his invitation was not lost on her, and her cheeks pinked.

Stepping closer to his horse, she reached up, putting a hand on his knee. "I think that an excellent idea, Mr. Larabee. I would hate to have my handiwork be for naught." Her eyes held a promise that made him forget to breath. Then she stepped back as the children came out to say goodbye. 

As he rode away, he laughed, feeling a lightness of spirit he hadn't for too many years. Charlotte had been right; he was too young for heaven. He still had a life to live, and he vowed not to forget that ever again. Ella was still out there somewhere, and one day he'd find her, but he would no longer allow her any power over his life. He didn't know what the future held, but whatever lay before him, he would be the man his son would have been proud of. 

End

 

_End Note: the incident with Kronos can be found near the end of[I Am Going To the West](http://archiveofourown.org/works/14624)._


End file.
